


And a Pinch of Salt

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly decides that ordering 42 dozen cupcakes from his favorite cafe for Les Amis' Holiday Party at the Community Center is a great idea. </p>
<p>It is and it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Pinch of Salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mistlethrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistlethrush/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Mistlethrush!! I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> My original plan was to write what's going on with Combeferre & Jehan during this fic, but then I got overwhelmed by the amount of baking I had to do, couldn't get the baking off my mind & this happened. 
> 
> Thanks so so much to Britt for beta-ing this for me, she's not even in the fandom but she's an dear and made sure it was readable anyway. Thanks also to the mods for organizing this whole thing and for dealing with me being an idiot and forgetting when finished works were due.
> 
> Hope you all have a wonderful holiday (and get to bake something wonderful, if that's your thing)!!

Feuilly leaned back in his chair, sipping at his espresso. He glanced to the counter, the barista looked away sharply and Feuilly couldn’t hide his smile. There was obviously an attraction between the two of them but, seeing as they only saw each other in the early hours of the morning, nothing had moved past catching the other watching them every once in a while.

 

Feuilly looked back to his laptop and to the small to do list in the corner of the screen. He read thorugh it quickly, he had most of it memorized. December was a non-stop flurry of movement: There was the food drive at the library where he was working the 7-9 shift every day this week, about ten commissions he still had to finish and send out so they arrived before Christmas, four bakeries he went to daily to pick up baked goods for the food bank, Les Amis' Secret Santa, Joly's Birthday and the holiday party Les Amis was hosting in a couple of days.

 

The holiday party was turning into a nightmare because the combined force of Courfeyrac and Joly meant they had an overabundance of ideas and not enough time to implement them all.

Not to mention, the last RSVP count was close to 500 people.

 

So yeah. December was busy for him.

 

Feuilly glanced back up, the barista looked away again, scowling, and Feuilly noticed the little desert stand next to the register. About a dozen cupcakes (strawberry today) and several dozen cookies stared back at him. On days that he had a little extra on his wallet, he’d spurge and buy himself a treat for the walk to work. He had yet to try anything that wasn’t amazing.

 

Without really thinking, Feuilly pushed himself up and marched over to the register. The barista (who's name Feuilly really should know by now, he's been coming to this cafe for months and he's been here nearly every time—he just never wore a nametag that said anything other than Batman) glanced to him with a faint hint of worry on his face.

 

“You have the best cupcakes in Paris.”

 

The man froze, expression caught in between cocky and bewilderment. “Have you been to that place by la Madeleine?”

 

“My friend and I have gone there and they’re not as good.”

 

He leaned back and crossed his arms, “I have a friend who swears they’re better.”

 

Feuilly shrugged, it really wasn’t his problem what his friend said, "Well they're not."

 

His words came out probably a little bit too forcefully because the other man started to look unsure, "Thank you?"

 

“I’m helping to organize a holiday event and I wanted to know if I could order some.”

 

He shrugged, “Yeah, sure, of course. How many do you think you want?”

 

“Fourty-two dozen.”

 

He stared at him for a moment blankly and then shrugged like it was no big deal, “Yeah. ‘Course I can do that.”

 

“…You?” Feuilly asked a little blankly and a smirk appeared on the other man’s lips.

 

“Who do you think made them?”

 

“Oh.” Now that he actually thought about it, it was glaringly obvious that there was only one employee in the morning; they wouldn’t hire someone to come bake a couple dozen cookies at five in the morning and go home.

 

He gave a little laugh and leaned back against the counter, his hands gripping the marble."Yeah, it's not a problem, when do you need them?"

 

"The twentieth."

 

His face fell. "Oh."

 

"Is that a problem? Is it too short notice? I know it’s already the sixteenth—"

 

The man waved him off, "No, I've got it. Don't worry, write what kind of flavors you want and I'll have them priced out for you in a minute or two."

 

"Great." Feuilly scribbled down the flavors on a napkin and then went back to his table to pack up his things when the other man took the order into the back. Just when he finished stuffing his notebook, the barista returned with an invoice.

 

"You should be going if you want to make it to wherever you go this early in the morning." He told him, after their hands decidedly did  not brush as he handed him a slip of paper.  

 

Feuilly glanced to the clock and grimaced, "Work. I've got a ten hour shift ahead of me."

 

The man just raised his eyebrows and saluted as Feuilly made his way out the door.

 

On the walk to work, he crossed “ !CUPCAKES!!!!!!!! SOMEBODY PLEASE” off the group spreadsheet for the Holiday Party and put the whole affair out of mind until the meeting that night. Well, he said "meeting" but really it was the stop-motion Jack Frost movie at Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta's. They had promised to wait until he got there to start.

 

“Did you ask Bahorel to make cupcakes?” Grantaire asked the second Feuilly sat down, causing him to flinch—he hadn’t even known Grantaire was there until he spoke up. The man was buried under Christmas and Hanukkah pillows and blankets and at first Feuilly assumed he had the couch to himself.

 

“Bahorel?”

 

“Yeah.” Grantaire sat up straighter, causing a glittery reindeer pillow to fall from the couch onto Marius.

 

“Who’s Bahorel?”

 

“Uh? Bahorel’s Bahorel.” Grantaire carefully explained, shifting again and knocking another pillow down, “Are you alright?”

 

Enjolras frowned, “You two spend an hour together every morning at the shop.”

 

Feuilly pictured the room with him at his table, the barista behind the bar and a phantom _other_ person lurking around like a ghost. “At  my coffee shop?”

 

“Bahorel’s coffee shop, yeah. Don’t you go there to support your friend?”

 

Feuilly stared at Enjolras and then to Grantaire for good measure. “No I go because—Wait. What?”

 

“Oh my god.” Courfeyrac whispered, looking like his birthday had come early.

 

Bossuet sat up sharply, all but flinging Musichetta from his lap, “Wait—Feuilly is the kid Bahorel won’t shut up the fuck up about?”

 

“Bahorel?” Feuilly asked again, feeling strangely swept away from his friends. He loved them all to death and they all loved him just as much but sometimes they lived wildly different lives and he felt it.

 

“He’s in my course.” Courfeyrac said like it explained everything.

 

Relief flooded him and Feuilly shook his head, letting himself relax into the couch, “Oh. No. He’s always at the coffee shop during your class.”

 

Courfeyrac pressed his lips together and shrugged a bit, “…he’s failing. He hasn’t been in once this term. That probably wasn’t the best way to describe him.”

 

Feuilly frowned, “Super tall, dreadlocks, probably spends too much time at the gym?”

 

Joly pressed his hands together over his mouth to muffle his laughter, “I didn’t know you two didn’t know each other.”

 

“You’re both part of Les Amis—have you two just been missing each other?”

 

“Bahorel does usually leave early like he did today—he has to be up early to get started on the bread.”

 

“He bakes the bread too.” Feuilly blurted out and then, "Wait, what do you mean he's part of Les Amis. Why didn't you open with that?"

 

"I don't know how this is happening." Enjolras informed the room at large.

 

Jehan laughed suddenly from where he was sprawled out on both Combeferre and the recliner, "Bahorel was supposed to be baking cakes for us as well but he backed out and just signed on for the cookies. But now you have him baking five hundred cupcakes on top of the thousand cookies. I hope you have me for Secret Santa because this is all I want."

 

"I'll find another bakery." If this Bahorel already had to back out of cakes, there was no way Feuilly was going to force him to make cupcakes on top of it. He had backed out for a reason, this was his event too, he probably had a hundred things to do for it.

 

Grantaire waved his hand in the air, two more pillows were dislodged and fell onto Marius who was starting to look like he was considering throwing them back.  "Too late, we've already got everything planned out for a shopping trip tomorrow. Plus, this makes it so much cheaper, cutting out labor cost."

 

“I’m supposed to help him.” Joly said suddenly. “You go in my place. It’ll be a great bonding thing for the two of you.”

 

"Two of us?" Feuilly asked carefully as Courfeyrac and Combeferre both started straight up  giggling . “No stop. This isn’t funny. You expect the two of us will be able to bake five  hundred  cupcakes and  a thousand cookies.”

 

“Yeah, don’t worry, they bake a thousand cupcakes in like two hours on Cupcake Wars, you’ll be fine.” Joly assured him, giving him a thumbs up from across the room.

 

“ What the hell is Cupcake Wars .” Feuilly whispered but someone, maybe Marius, probably Combeferre, turned on the movie and the room fell silent like they were a bunch of six-year-olds.

 

*

 

The next morning Feuilly walked into the coffee shop intending to start off with  so we’re part of the same friend group and never actually realized it but instead it turned into him stumbling over his order as the woman behind the counter tried and failed to hide a yawn. Given the way she was half-squinting at everything and frowning as if the world at large had wronged her, she must usually work the afternoon shift.

Her being there made Feuilly realize one very troubling thing: he couldn’t remember the last time he had ordered. All he had to do was walk in and Bahorel would start making his coffee, or sometimes it was ready waiting for him. He gave her a tip and then opted to just head to work early and drink his coffee on the way.

 

It was nice that he finally had a name for him, though.

 

The next morning his alarm didn’t go off, which put him in a rotten mood for the rest of the day until Joly sent him a picture of Bahorel with frosting on his nose that almost gave him a damn heart attack.  Preview of tomorrow night! He said,  He’s super bummed he hasn’t seen you in two days but don’t worry I haven’t spilled the beans!!

 

Feuilly had replied to let Bahorel know he wouldn’t be able to make it the following morning as well. After he pressed send, he stared at his screen worrying about how that was a weird fucking thing to say, you didn’t have to RSVP for morning coffee.

 

Joly replied with a series of shocked/horrified faces and  I’m not spilling the beans!!!!!!

 

Feuilly rolled his eyes and then went back to look at the picture again. He was still smiling as he went to make dinner with the vague notion of being totally fucked in the back of his mind.

 

The next day was a whirlwind that found him at the back of the café right as the sun was starting to set. He had finished and shipped three commissions, had a baguette war with a pair of twins down at the food bank, and took a panicked Combeferre to get Jehan a Secret Santa gift, which was bizarre because they’d been dating for over three years now.

 

Feuilly knocked on the back door and Bahorel opened it, taking a sip from a Darth Vader mug as he did so. He opened his mouth to speak then did a double take when he realized who was standing in front of him.

 

“Oh—what?” Bahorel asked, mug forgotten in his hand.

 

“Joly sent me in his place. We apparently have friends in common.”

 

Bahorel took the news in stride and turned around, leaning the way back into the kitchen, “Joly’s a fucking soggy candy cane. But come in, we can bitch about how much our friends suck. If you’re friends with Joly you must also be friends with Bossuet and Grantaire?”

 

“I’m a member of Les Amis.”

 

Bahorel froze and turned around as Feuilly looked up from shutting the door. “You’re the mysterious Feuilly I’m not sure isn’t actually a giant fucking game the others are playing on me?”

 

He shrugged, “I get there late, after you leave apparently.”

 

“…you’re at the shop at six in the morning but you don’t get to the meetings until eight?”

 

Feuilly shrugged again, “It’s not like I’m  not going to make time for my friends.”

 

“Holy shit.” Bahorel whispered like it was too much for him. “I can’t believe you’re actually real. Scratch that, I can’t believe you’re  you .”

 

Feuilly shrugged, “Well, I am? What do we have to do here?”

 

Bahorel gave a little laugh, “We have ten dozen of eight different cookies and then six different cupcakes at seven dozen each.”

 

He stared blankly back at him, “I wrote down chocolate, vanilla and strawberry.”

 

“Which turned into chocolate, vanilla, peppermint hot chocolate, red velvet, gingerbread and sugar cookie when the others got a hold of it.”

 

Feuilly ran his hands over his face, “I’m going to kill them.” He sighed and then looked around the tiny kitchen area, there was one oven, a sink, an industrialized sized mixer, a standard sized mixer and little else.  “Okay where do I start?”

 

Looking around the kitchen, Bahorel grabbed an index card and tossed it at him. Feuilly only just caught it, it was stained and the corners were bent, the cursive writing was barely legible. “You can follow directions, right? You can start on the chocolate chip cookies. No one can fuck them up.”

 

*

 

“Enjolras was wrong. There  are things you suck at.”

 

Feuilly frowned and then flicked the spatula in Bahorel’s direction. Batter splattered across his face.

 

“Oh that’s fucking mature.” Bahorel didn’t seemed fazed in the slightest, he simply turned back towards where he was scooping batter out into a pan and wiped the batter off his face with the back of his hand.

Feuilly’s chocolate chip cookies were a goopy mess and when he looked down at them, they a bubble rose to the surface and popped, sending a fleck of batter onto the bridge of Feuilly’s nose. “Is this a joke?”

 

“No that’s my grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe.”

 

“Is your grandmother a horrible cook?”

 

Bahorel gasped dramatically, scoop pressed to his chest where it left a mark, “How dare you, my grandmother taught me everything I know and I don’t here you complaining when you devour my baking before you even make it out the door.”

 

Feuilly narrowed his eyes but then the sight of a bowl full of flour caught his eye, “Oh fuck—I just forgot to add the rest of the flour.”

 

Bahorel snorted and Feuilly ignored him as he turned the mixer back on (the lowest speed this time) and poured the rest of the flour in the mixing bowl.  

 

*

 

The problem with having a single oven for a project this size is that there was a single oven for baking approximately fifteen hundred cookies/cupcakes. Feuilly’s last batch of chocolate chip cookies sat unhappily next to the oven as he checked on the beginning of the chocolate cupcakes for the tenth time.

 

“They still have eight minutes.” Bahorel told him without looking up from where he was measuring baking soda.

 

“My cookies have to go in.”

 

“They still have eight minutes.”

 

Feuilly sighed, “We’re almost done with the chocolate chip, the sugar cookies are in the fridge. At least we’re making progress on the cupcakes.”

 

“We’ve made nine out of forty-two dozen.”

 

“No.”

 

Bahorel laughed at the distress in Feuilly’s voice, “We’re a coffee shop. Not a bakery. This is our industrial mixer, the one you’re using is mine from home—can’t you tell by the fucking dick R drew on the back?”

 

“I didn’t look at the back.” Feuilly looked around the flour coated kitchen for his phone, "I'm calling everyone. They'll come if I cry."

 

"Oh my god." Bahorel whispered, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

 

Feuilly paced around the room, the mixing bowl currently contained sugar cookie batter in the fridge and he was momentarily useless except for calling for help. He paced for the remainder of the eight minutes until Bahorel checked the cupcakes and announced they were done.

 

Feuilly put his phone down on the counter as he donned Bahorel’s stupid bear paw oven mitts and took the two trays out of the oven. “Everyone’s busy. Combeferre and Jehan aren’t picking up their phones.”

 

“You’re trying again?” Bahorel asked as he put the last of the chocolate chip cookies in the oven and glanced to the screen of Feuilly's phone.   


 

“I know my ringtone on Jehan’s phone is Hello. He has to pick up eventually.”

 

“You’re the one that did that?”

 

“There was rum involved, it wasn’t a good night.”

 

Feuilly carefully (read: not carefully at all, he burnt his fingertips several times) took the cupcakes out of the trays and lined them up to cool. His phone went to Jehan’s voicemail and he immediately, with a cupcake in the other hand, called him again.

 

This time it went straight to voicemail.

 

The only sounds in the kitchen were of Jehan apologizing for not being able to come to the phone and Feuilly very deliberately putting the cupcake down onto the metal cooling rack.

 

“Did he turn his phone off?” Bahorel asked, pulling a bear paw oven mitt off Feuilly’s hand so he could pick up the now empty but still hot cupcake tray.

 

“I’m so angry.”

 

“You can help me scoop, if you want?” Bahorel offered and Feuilly all but grabbed the extra scoop from his hands.

 

*

 

“These are some really sad looking reindeer.” Bahorel frowned down at his tray, half-filled with the poor misshapen creatures.

 

Feuilly glanced over and nearly dropped the bottle of vanilla he was holding into the mixer, “Those aren’t reindeer.”

 

“What do you mean they’re not reindeer.”

 

After double checking to make sure he added enough vanilla, Feuilly went over and turned the cookie tray for Bahorel whose eyebrows shot up. “That’s a penis.”

 

After a beat, the two said practically in unison, “Bossuet.”

 

*

 

“Why the hell isn’t Joly here again?” Bahorel asked, stretching after putting another tray of cookies into the oven. Feuilly pointedly did not look at the tiny bit of exposed skin at his lower back.

 

“Bossuet got himself locked in some closet and now they’re all behind schedule. They had to wait for Enjolras to come and pick the lock.”

 

“Baking is a science and science is Joly’s thing ergo he should fucking be here helping us.”

 

“He keeps promising he will.”

 

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

 

Feuilly shrugged, “Toss me the baking powder?”

 

Bahorel did so silently and then stretched his neck a bit, “I would have had most of the baking down already, except my sisters had a dance recital today. There are three of them, all under ten, and my parents are older so I went and helped them get ready. The show wasn’t that bad actually, now that I think about it.”

 

“They dance at R’s school?”

 

“Yeah. The youngest is in love with him.”

 

“Is your sister the one who pulled Enjolras aside and lectured him about the repercussions of hurting Grantaire?”

 

“Damn straight she is.”

 

*

 

Feuilly’s phone went off and Bahorel tapped in the passcode to unlock it without hesitating, “Joly says he’ll come in the morning.”

 

“Tell him I hate him.” Feuilly’s hands were covered in cookie dough as he wrestled the paddle attachment out of a mound of oatmeal cookie dough. “Also, while you’re at it, can you tell Combeferre that I have him for secret santa and I’m getting him a six pack of warm pumpkin ale?”

 

Bahorel shivered and grimaced at the same time, which immediately told Feuilly one thing: he had still been at Courfeyrac and Marius’ Halloween party when Courfeyrac broke out an ungodly amount of pumpkin ale. Those who survived compared the taste of the ale to licking the floor of a damp and uncomfortably dark Starbuck’s bathroom, swamp water and “that time I almost drowned in a puddle in the middle of a pumpkin patch.”

 

“I’m sorry. That was in bad taste.”

 

“Too soon.” Bahorel shook his head as he typed out a reply and then looked up to Feuilly in surprise, “Did you know it’s already two?”

 

“In the morning?” Feuilly asked blankly and then sucked in a deep breath, “There’s more sugar cookie dough behind you.”

 

“Holy fuck, how much did you make?” Bahorel asked, spinning around.

 

“I doubled the recipe like you said.”

 

Bahorel grabbed the mound of cookie dough and tossed it to Feuilly, who caught it without batting an eye, “Get rolling.”

 

Feuilly made a show about sighing and locating the rolling pin, which made Bahorel laugh as he went back to mixing  something .

 

*

 

Feuilly was pretty sure what he felt for Bahorel was now something beyond attraction, it was more an overall fondness for the way he talked about his family and the way he swore when he bunt his hand on a too-hot cookie tray.

 

He didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad thing but when the timer going off was the only thing to alert them to the fact they had been staring at each other and smiling for the past couple of minutes, he realized he was absolutely fucked.

 

*

 

“It’s three o’clock, they have to be done by now.”

 

“According to Enjolras they’re almost done and then they’re going to get dinner.”

 

“Listen, I just found more sugar cookie dough, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

 

 

*

 

“Your sisters are adopted?”

 

“Yeah, it was all sort of sudden: one day my parents cornered me and told me they were adopting a little girl. A few years later and I’m trying to round up Chloé, Ines, and Jade for school.”

 

“That’s great. I’m glad they found you.” Feuilly picked up an oatmeal cookie and took a bite. He looked surprised at how well it turned out. “I bounced around from foster home to foster home until I turned eighteen. If I can prevent just one kid from going through what I had to, some days I think it’d be worth it.”

 

*

 

“If you finish the last of the sugar cookies I will literally repay you in sexual favors.”

 

“…I finished the last of the sugar cookies a half hour ago. Did you fall asleep leaning against the counter?”

 

Feuilly’s head shot up and he ignored Bahorel’s laugh. The room was brighter than it was a moment ago, “What do you mean the sugar cookies are done? The cookies are all done?”

 

“I just have a couple more batches of gingerbread to bake, if you want, my keys are in the closet, you can go upstairs and crash on the couch?”

 

*

Feuilly didn’t remember walking into Bahorel’s apartment, if he waited for the cupcakes to finish baking or if he said fuck it and abandoned him to gingerbread hell, but the next thing he knew he was sprawled out across the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt that weren’t his, pulling the blanket back up over his shoulder so he could go back to bed.

 

*

 

“Hola, mi amigos!”

 

Feuilly opened his eyes in time to watch Joly burst through the door of the apartment. “Feuilly, I broke into your apartment to get your clothes for this afternoon! ‘Chetta and I are here to help ice!”

 

“Did you two finish everything last night?”

 

Feuilly sat up, letting the blanket fall from him, “Honestly? I don’t know. What time is it?”

 

“A little after noon.”

 

“Holy shit.” They only had a couple of hours to ice five hundred cupcakes and get halfway across the city in time to help decorate.

 

There was a thud from one of the other rooms and then Bahorel threw open his bedroom door, “Everything’s baked we just have to ice—dibs on not doing the sugar cookie cupcakes.”

 

Feuilly immediately touched his nose, which caused Joly to straight up giggle into Musichetta’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the sugar cookie cupcakes but I’ll take one for the team.” She sighed.

 

“This is why you’re my favorite.” Bahorel pulled his dreads up into a pony tail and nodded in the direction of a slightly ajar door, “Bathroom’s there if you need it.”

 

Joly tossed Feuilly his bag and then laughed as Feuilly missed it and it hit the floor with a thud. “Just let me brush my teeth and change.”

 

“Take your time, we’ll meet you downstairs.”

 

*

 

“Nice shirt.” Musichetta said the second he walked into the kitchen. Feuilly glanced down and saw he was still wearing Bahorel’s t-shirt. Whatever, it was fucking comfortable.

 

“Sorry.” He shrugged in Bahorel’s direction.

 

“I don’t mind.” He replied but didn’t look up from where he was piping. Feuilly made his way over to the sink where he washed his hands on reflex when he turned around it sunk in that Bahorel next to him was actually piping icing already.

 

“Did you make it that fast?”

 

“What? Oh no, Joly and I made the icing the day before yesterday.”

 

“Oh thank god.” Feuilly sighed, and then, without thinking, grabbed Bahorel’s face and kissed him. He instantly let go of him and took a step back, horrified. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

Bahorel stared blankly at him for a moment and Joly darted in to grab the bag of icing, which was leaking. “I didn’t mind.” He said after a minute and then seemed to come back to himself and smirked. He grabbed the icing bag back from Joly and iced a few cupcakes as he continued to speak, “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to more of that in a more unprofessional environment with less of a time crunch.”

 

“I’m free Monday at seven.” 

 

“Cool. So am I. Meet you here?

 

“Yeah, that works.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Cool.”

 

There was a scuffle where Joly seemed to be fighting with his phone and Musichetta steadily ignored him as she piped chocolate icing onto the cupcakes. 

 

“Can you put the crushed candy canes on after I ice.” Bahorel asked, already handing him the bowl. 

 

Instead of answering, Feuilly just started sprinkling the cupcakes and ignored the way both Joly and Musichetta laughed quietly. 

 

 

*

 

“You have some icing in your hair.” Enjolras informed him quietly as he finished up his fifth or sixth cupcake of the night.

 

“Leave it, it’s fueling my anger.” Feuilly replied, picking up a sugar cookie cupcake. They were standing by the desert table, they might as well. “Bahorel thought it’s be a good idea to throw an entire goddamn cupcake at my face so I could _taste it_.” 

 

“Joly and Musichetta are telling everyone who’ll listen what a good team you and Bahorel make.”

 

“Are they also telling everyone how I fucking kissed him because we didn’t have to make frosting?”

 

“They’re showing the video of him asking you out.”

 

“Of course they are.” Feuilly rolled his eyes and smiled.

 

Enjolras chuckled, “Did Joly tell you he wants the two of you to bake his birthday cake?”

 

“Yeah and we made a deal that if Combeferre proposes before Joly’s birthday, I get out of making the cake. Listen, Enjolras, I almost didn’t survive this, let Combeferre know my life’s on the line.”

 

Enjolras eyes went wide and panicked, “How did you know? It was supposed to be a secret.”

 

“He was freaking the hell out over what to get him for Secret Santa.”

 

With a laugh, Enjolras shook his head slightly, “Courfeyrac just told me Jehan’s planning to propose as well.”  

 

“Is he alright?” Feuilly glanced to Enjolras who was eyeing the cookies now.

 

Enjolras shrugged, “He’s so excited he can’t look at either of them. Combeferre’s worried he might be mad at him.” He glanced at something behind Feuilly. “Watch out.” 

 

Before hecould turn around, Bahorel had his arm around his shoulders and Courfeyrac pulled at Feuilly’s arm. 

 

“Look at them!” Courfeyrac whispered and pointed to Combeferre and Jehan taking to Courfeyrac’s Moms. “Someone distract me, I’m too excited for them. They both don't know the other's planning on proposing.” 

 

Enjolras shut his eyes for a heartbeat, obviously convinced Courfeyrac was going to ruin whatever surprised proposal Combeferre and Jehan had planned for the other, and then asked. “Have you spoke to Musichetta and Joly yet?”

 

“No why?”

 

“These two are going on a date tuesday.” Enjolras indicated the other two men standing next to them.   


 

Courfeyrac immediately glared at both Bahorel and Feuilly, “You go from being strangers then over the course of one long sugar filled night, you two decide to go out? I find that highly suspicious. I’m surrounded by Christmas movie cliches.” He grabbed Enjolras by the arm and pulled him over to where a gaggle of kids were dancing to Jingle Bells, “Dance with me.” 

 

Feuilly and Bahorel watched as Courfeyrac lead Enjolras in a waltz much to the delight of the kids cheering them on. Then Bahorel gasped and pulled away from Feuilly. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

A grin spread across Bahorel’s face, “If I give you a key to the bakery, you can come in and make your own damn coffee. You could do the baking for me since you’re up already.” 

 

“That’s not how it works. I’m actually a shit baker or did you blackout last night?”

 

Bahorel turned to the dessert table, “Okay, no, see which ones did I make and which ones did you make?”

 

“Honestly I don’t have a clue.” 

 

Bahorel took two of the gingerbread cupcakes and handed one to Feuilly before he began examining the other."I'm pretty sure I made these."  


 

Feuilly saw his opportunity, took it, and smashed the cupcake into Bahorel’s face. 


End file.
